


Never Give Up

by MsChievous



Series: Prompto Week 2017 [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Prompto Spoilers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 18:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12415464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsChievous/pseuds/MsChievous
Summary: ① DAY 1 of Prompto Fan Week:Favorite Scene★ BrotherhoodPrompto is left to his own devices for a while after escaping from the facility thanks to Aranea's help. This is not the best idea.





	Never Give Up

**Author's Note:**

> I was debating between this scene and the motel scene, but then I remembered [this](http://kidolegend.tumblr.com/post/162632739895/ffxv-and-disabilities) post, and decided to do this. I highly suggest you read it because it's a really interesting analysis on how FFXV represents different disabilities!
> 
> But, tl;dr, the wording you're given at the campfire scene is "burn wrist" or "give up", not "burn wrist" or "don't". So I wanted to write a fic that reflected how hopeless Prompto feels. Because I love to hurt the poor boy.

Prompto stares at the fire in front of him. The warmth is really nice, he’s been freezing ever since he staggered out onto the Gralean tundra. So he huddles closer, relishing the break from the wind the little half-cave offers him. 

After a while, he realizes how hungry he is and nestles a cold can of beans in the embers at the edge of the fire. He vaguely remembers Noctis’ reaction to Takka asking them to help him with a shipment of beans. He bites back a smile at the memory.

It won’t happen again, Noctis has made his choice. He’s found out that Prompto’s been lying about his origins for so long, and hates him for it. 

Prompto deserves that hate, of course, but it still hurts to have these memories of past, taunting him with what he could have had. He curls in on himself even more, packing himself in a tight ball in a pitiful attempt to generate warmth. 

He might be from Niflheim, but he’s never experienced a Niff snow storm. The worst part is that this isn’t even winter, it’s just  _ that damn cold _ . He doesn’t know how people manage to live here or  _ why _ , but gods damn if it’s not impressive.

After a few minutes, he carefully picks the can of beans from the embers, hissing at the hot metal burning his fingertips. He does his best to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of his head, that he deserves to be hurt. He’s lived without it for a couple years now, but with the way his life’s been fucked sideways, it’s hard to do. After all, he  _ does _ deserve Noctis’ hate, so why shouldn’t he also deserve the pain that comes with it?

He shakes his head out of the thought. He can’t afford to deal with that right now. He needs to eat. So he slides on the gloves, though that makes it hard to handle the can. The gloves mostly insulate him from the burning heat, allowing just a gentle warmth to seep through the thick material.

He manages to pry open the lid of the can with his pocketknife and digs into the legumes. He cringes slightly at the rubbery texture and the poor convection that leaves half of the beans too hot to eat and the other half practically frozen. 

“Mmmm,” He tries to convince himself that this is good food, that it’s so  _ delicious _ . “Almost as good as what Iggy used to make.” But it’s not. For one thing, Ignis probably would have cooked the beans properly. For another, he probably wouldn’t have had to stoop to such lows as heating of a can of beans in a fire. He would somehow manage to cook a full meal.

He sets down the can and manages a weak laugh. “Well,” he says, “At least it’s quiet for a change.” People like the quiet, right? Quiet is a good thing. Personally, silence makes him queasy, but now he’ll need to get used to the silence and being alone. Now that he knows he’s a danger to others, he can’t stay around them.

His pitiful laugh turns to quiet sobs. He’s going to be alone for the rest of his life. He doesn’t know if Aranea made it out of the facility alive, and it’s all his fault if she doesn’t. For a split second, he imagines drowning himself in the lake nearby. Just ending it all. 

But he shakes his head with a  _ tch _ . That’s not what he wants, not really. He just wants to be rid of this  _ stupid _ mark on his wrist, declaring him inhuman. 

He pushes the sleeve of his coat up, staring at the black lines of the barcode. He just wants it  _ gone _ , doesn’t want to have to live with it!

He starts scratching at the tattoo, breath loud in his ears, but the gloves don’t do anything except make the skin red. 

“Damn it!” He hisses, dropping his gaze to the floor. His eye catches on a smoldering stick, just barely thicker than his thumb, and he gets an idea. A stupid, insane,  _ terrible _ idea, but maybe, if he can burn off the tattoo…

Carefully, he grabs the stick and holds it a foot away from his wrist. The heat that radiates from the stick warms his skin, and at this range, it’s pleasant rather than painful.

He shouldn’t do this, it’s pointless, a part of him thinks. Why bother to try and burn something away in an attempt to get people to like you if they won’t ever do that? At least not of their own accord. 

But another part of him screams that he just needs to  _ feel _ something right now, to feel the pain and anguish he keeps trying to hide behind smiles and laughter. That  _ Noctis _ chose him, out of all the people, and maybe he’s worthy of love.

He’s frozen for a few moments before he grits his teeth and presses the burning end of the stick against his tattoo.

It’s painful. More painful than he would have thought, surprisingly. And he can’t hold back yelps of pain. He drops the stick all too soon, clapping a hand over his wrist in an attempt to make it feel better. He  _ prays  _ that he had burned the tattoo away, or, at least disfigured it beyond recognition. But when he lifts his hand carefully away, it’s still there.

Granted, the skin is bubbly and twisted, but the lines of the barcode and his code are easily recognizable. A disappointed laugh bubbles up in his chest. “...branded for life,” He said, his laughs quickly turning into muffled sobs. 

He’s a mess of emotions now, anger, sadness, self-hatred, and anxiety, all roiling around in his gut, twisting it into knots until he thought he was going to throw up. 

“Don’t tell me you thought that would work,” He doesn’t even jump when Aranea speaks. He doesn’t know when she got here, but obviously, it was long enough to see him burn his own wrist.

He looks up at her, trying to stutter out an apology or explanation or  _ something _ , but only coming up with unintelligible noises.

“Prompto, right?” She asks, moving towards him. He recoils slightly as she kneels in front of him, but she’s fast, grabbing his right wrist and breaking a potion against it. He doesn’t know where she got it, but relief from the pain rushes through him.

He stares at the skin. The skin is still twisted and scarred over, no longer fresh, but still, the barcode is clearly visible and he just wants to burn his entire hand away to be rid of it.

Aranea reclines next to him, her work done. “You could at least look happy to see me,” She teases

Normally, he would have responded with a smile and an apology, but he’s too tired for that now, mind too preoccupied with the reality of what he is, and he can only manage a slight stammer.

Luckily, Aranea pushes on, as if he didn’t speak. “I ran into your buddies in Tenebrae,” She says, watching his surprised reaction with a smile. “You’ve got ‘em worried sick.” 

Prompto makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and keeps his eyes downcast.

Aranea is unfazed as she leans forward. “Are you gonna see ‘em?” She asks.

There’s a pause, a too-long pause, before Prompto replies shallowly, “I...I can’t.” He waits for Aranea to chime in, but she’s silent. Prompto continues, more certain this time, “I can’t. ...I’m not like them. I was born here - in Niflheim,” The words bring bile to the back of his throat, and he struggles to swallow it down. “All this time, and I’ve never told them.” Now that he’s concentrating on not throwing up, the tears start to fall.

“And that’s not even the worst part,” He continues, steeling himself for what’s coming next, “I wasn’t born into a happy family. I was  _ made _ \- created in some laboratory. The only reason I exist is to make Noct and all of them miserable.” And he has succeeded in that respect. After all, Noctis had hated him enough to push him off a train. “How could I possibly see them? They’d never accept the real me,” He says.

Aranea sighs, shifting her gaze to the fire. “You’ve spent all that time driving around together, and you  _ still _ don’t know what kinda guys  _ they _ really are,” Aranea says, “In case you forgot, your princely pal and I weren’t always on such  _ friendly _ terms. But you know what? He put that all aside and asked me to make sure you were safe.”

Nothing breaks the silence, save the crackling of the fire, for a long time. Finally, Prompto meets her eyes. 

“He did?” He asks uncertainty.

With a nod, Aranea says, “Do you think he’d do all that for someone who “makes him miserable”? She scoffs.

He’s honestly not sure. Noctis could be putting up a façade for the others, or maybe he wanted to find Prompto to make things worse. He doesn’t know what can be worse than getting pushed off a train, but if anyone can find something worse than that, it would be Noctis. He sighs.

“Is everybody okay?” He asks. Noctis and the others might hate him, but he can’t bring himself to do the same, and the thought that any one of them might be hurt is enough to twist his stomach into knots.

“All things considered, I guess,” She says, “Sounds like they’ve been through a lot since you left, but they’re still dead-set on getting to the capital.”  
Prompto nods slowly, “...Hope they make it,” He says.

“They’d have a better shot with you around,” Aranea replies pointedly.

Prompto doesn’t reply.

Aranea gets to her feet with a grunt, brushing off her skirt. “Look - I can tell you want to get back together with them. So why not let them know?” She asks, making a move to walk away.

“You think they’d let me back? After all this?” He asks, interrupting her mid-stride. “And even if they  _ did _ let me back, I’d probably cause them nothing but trouble. … I don’t know how I could live with myself.”

Aranea groans. “Because you’re doing such a  _ great  _ job of living with yourself now,” She hisses, knocking him to the ground.

Prompto stares up at her uneasily.

“What do  _ you _ want, then?” She asks, crouching down so that Prompto has to press himself into the ground to try and get away from her. “You worry so much about what other people want from you  that you don’t even know what _ you _ want anymore!” She shouts, “Your life isn’t yours to live!” She claps her hand to either side of Prompto’s face. “Forget about what everyone else thinks for a second and figure out what it is you’re really after here.” She drops his head, letting him collapse bonelessly against the haven floor. 

She gets to her feet again. “I’m going after that new model in the morning. You’re on your own, kid.” She turns on her heel and walks away, leaving Prompto to lay on the floor wallowing in his own pity.

Prompto stays like that for a few moments before forcing himself into action. He doesn’t know  _ how _ he gets himself to move, it’s not like anyone would care if he just stayed here until he freezes to death. Noctis and the others don’t know where he is, and Aranea is totally ready to leave him alone.

He forces himself into a sitting position. No one’s coming for him, so he needs to be there for himself. He’s going to live because  _ he _ wants to do it.

**Author's Note:**

> I was sorely tempted to title this "Never Gonna Give You Up", ngl


End file.
